


Christmas Mini Fic Collection ‘17

by LittleAprilFlowers



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Dragon Age (Video Games), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Christmas, F/M, Fluff, Gift Giving, M/M, Mini fics, Other, Parties, prompts, tradition
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:39:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleAprilFlowers/pseuds/LittleAprilFlowers
Summary: A collection of mini fics based on a handful of prompts I received over the festive period from friends. Most of these were written on the night of Christmas Eve, when I should have been sleeping. Enjoy!





	1. Payment - Bucky/Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky decides not to spend Christmas alone.

Bucky sits alone in his apartment, the lights out for now. A gaggle of drunken revellers wander past his window, warbling some modern festive hit that he doesn’t know the words to. His cellphone buzzes on the windowsill beside him. It’s from Steve - _You’re missing out. Everyone’s here. And it’s Christmas._

He ignores the message at first, as well as the one from Natasha which arrives soon after - _Где ты, мудак? У нас есть правильная водка и много еды, чтобы пройти._

_(Where are you, asshole? We have proper vodka and a lot of food to go through.)_

But then again, they have a point. It _is_ Christmas; the first one he could actually celebrate now that he wasn’t enslaved by some Nazi sleeper organisations, or on the run for the crimes he committed under the influence of such organisations. There were two things to be grateful for straight off the bat. And yet Bucky lingers a while longer on his perch at the sill, his new vibranium arm aching as a phantom limb would.

Ah, what the hell. It wouldn’t hurt to drop in and say hi, have a couple of drinks, and then leave. Better to show his face and leave soon after than not turn up at all.

He elects to hail a taxi to Natasha’s apartment. The driver doesn’t try to make conversation with the long haired, stony faced man in the backseat of his cab, and Bucky tips him for that. From where the taxi drops him off, Bucky walks a few blocks back up the street. He admires the lights people have strung (perhaps not officially sanctioned) across the trees on the sidewalk, and dodges a couple of kids dashing past in the opposite direction, laughing as they slip on the icy concrete. Memories of past winters pull at Bucky’s mind - he and Steve, wrapped in too few layers to be warm enough even with Steve as sickly as he was, tossing snowballs at one another and staying out so late they’d get an earful from their moms once they returned home. One of the kids passing by turns to record their friend on their phone; something he and Steve could not even have dreamed of doing.

Bucky climbs the steps and rings the bell for Nat’s apartment. The door buzzes without him even having to announce his name to the telecom - he deliberates whether they know it’s him or if they’re expecting more guests. He hopes it’s the former. Already the thought of more than Steve and Natasha trying to initiate him into the modern Christmas spirit is making him uneasy. He’s pretty sure that once upon a time he’d loved this time of the year, but now it feels like any other winter night.

Passing through the halls, he eventually comes across the door he recognises as Natasha’s. Quiet music - some kind of jazz he vaguely recognises - plays from beyond the door, accompanied by the sound of muted conversation. Bucky knocks. There is a pause; he’s unsure if he was heard, and his gloved hand hovers to knock again before the door swings open, held by a person he does not recognise. It’s a young woman; she is pale skinned with long dark hair tucked under a knitted hat which she wears despite being indoors, and she has the brightest blue eyes he’s ever seen.

“Oh hey.” The woman says, an amused smile playing on her unpainted lips - her face lacks makeup entirely. “Bucky, right? The friend with the arm.”

“Uhh—“

“I can let you in, but there’s one rule.” she continues, before she points to the doorframe overhead. Bucky follows her gesture to a sprig of white berries fixed above them both. “Mistletoe. Entry fee is one kiss.”

“Entry fee? This is a party.”

“Yup. And the entry fee is one kiss. Like a club, only with kisses.” she explains, leaning expectantly against the frame.

“C’mon, just let him in.” Steve’s voice calls from inside, from beyond a corner that Bucky cannot see around. “Darcy, please.”

“Nope. Everyone else has done it.” Darcy stands resolute between him and the party. “You did it, Captain Rogers. So he’s gotta do it.”

“He can always kiss me, if he’d prefer.” Natasha adds teasingly, appearing in the hall to intervene just as Bucky leans in and does as Darcy demands, planting a soft kiss on her lips. Natasha backs away as the kiss lasts a second longer than it ought to. Darcy pulls away first - Bucky feels a little smug at the pink rising in her cheeks, though maybe that’s because of the bubbling glass of fizz still clutched in her hand. That wasn’t so bad.

“So can I come in now?” he teases, with a charming grin which springs to his face without him having to think about it, “Or do you need further payment?”

“No, that’ll do it.” Darcy replies, turning swiftly and returning to the party as if unaffected. Bucky follows, closing the door behind him, already contemplating if he might make a night of it after all.


	2. Candles - Julian/Apprentice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julian tries to uphold a little tradition from home.

It can be hard to celebrate any sort of festivity when on the run from execution, not to mention for a crime you’re not entirely sure that you committed in the first place. With its hot southern hemisphere winters and unusual traditions all of its own, Vesuvia did not recognise the winter solstice of Ilya’s homeland. But Julian Devorak always took what he could recall of his family with him on his travels, if not much else besides. And he liked to think that somewhere in the grounds of the palace, Pasha had taken the time to do exactly as he does now, and that his little sister is thinking of him just as he thinks of her.

Mazelinka has left a dozen candles out for him as requested. Fresh food awaits him on the table - bread, spiced vegetables, and the rest of the traditional meal. Julian lights the candles one by one, counting them out in the language he was raised to speak, one he has not used for a long time. He takes the final twelfth candle into his hands and thinks of what he has to be grateful for.

_I am still alive._

_The headaches come less often, though the memory loss remains._

_My sister remembers me. I think she forgives me too._

_I have somewhere safe to sleep, with food to eat and company to keep._

_I have found something special. Someone special. And I want it to last, despite it all._

Ushering away what he considers to be a selfish final thought - which would defeat the point of the reflective moment - he blows out the flame gripped in his hands, then each one before it, extinguishing the candles in reverse of the order of which they were lit. Perhaps one day he might live to find twelve things to be thankful for.

A knock at the door startles Julian from his lingering reverie. He blinks through the darkness at the door, his heart hammering in his chest. Had the city guard finally caught up with him, on today of all days? He could jump out of the window into the back alleys, but they might know about his entering and exiting that way if they knew where to find him.

“It’s me!” a voice calls, one he never could have predicted to hear at this hour, “Hello?”

Julian hurries to the door and ushers the apprentice inside, out of the dimly lit street and into the total black of Mazelinka’s home.

“Ah. Hold on.” he apologises, moving to search for matches on the table before relighting a few of the candles. “There we are. Much better. Now I can see you.”

Then Julian sees the small sprig of white berries clutched in their hand. “Mistletoe.” he realises, “How did you—“

But his question is cut short by a pull at the front of his shirt before warm lips being pressed to his, the white berries held aloft by the apprentice. They draw away with a sharp tug of teeth at his bottom lip, and that is all it takes for Julian to grin devilishly in the candlelight and sweep his lover into his arms.


	4. A Visit - Handsome Jack & Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father visits his daughter on a special day.

Jack knocks on the windowless vast metal door, a small parcel clutched in his hands. “You okay in there, sweetheart?”

“Come in, Daddy.” a soft voice replies from within. A buzzer confirms that the door has unlocked, and Jack goes inside, managing to hide the wrapped gift behind his back as a small pale girl with dark hair barrels towards him.

“Hello gorgeous.” Jack says with laughter in his voice as his daughter, her head pressed to his abdomen, wraps her arms around his waist, “How’re you feeling today?”

“A little dizzy.” Angel admits, pulling away and touching a finger to the new installation protruding from her head. Her hair has been shaven away to make room for it - more of her hair lost to her own safety.

“That’ll pass, baby, that’ll pass. All good otherwise?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Angel replies, managing a smile for her father despite her evident discomfort. And there’s something else on her mind. “Do you know what day it is today, Daddy?”

Jack gives Angel a coy smile. “It’s Thursday.”

“Daaaaad!” she protests with a giggle, and then hurries over to the magnetic note board above her cot bed. On it is a few hand drawn pictures - Jack featuring in several of them - and a calendar, open at the month of December, with a cartoon snowman bidding the viewer a Merry Christmas. Every day on the calendar so far has been crossed out up until today - December 25th.

It occurs to Jack that Angel has never seen real snow.

“Daddy, it’s Christmas!” Angel announces, jumping up onto her cot and throwing her arms wide theatrically. Jack feels the observing scientists flinch on the other side of the one-way glass that occupies a whole wall of the room. He is not afraid, not of his own flesh and blood; not like they are.

“I didn’t know, my Angel.” Jack pretends, feeling a combination of stabbing guilt and mounting glee as her face falls, believing he has truly forgotten, “But that _would_ explain why this was left in my office last night.”

The delight that fills Angel’s eyes as Jack reveals the present from behind his back is like nothing he had ever seen before she was born. He craves it, and is grateful that he experiences it every time he comes to see her, especially on a day like this.

Angel stares at the gift almost hungrily until Jack hands it over. As soon as she has it, she tears at one strip of paper before pausing, then more carefully stripping the other layers back. The soft gasp which escapes her lips as the wrapping falls away is all the confirmation that Jack - or rather, Santa - chose right.

From the small navy blue box inside, Angel lifts a silver chain. Dangling from the end of it is a charm of a bird in flight.

“Oh, it’s beautiful.” Angel murmurs, her eyes fixed entirely on the glittering charm. As she admires it, Jack gets a closer look at the scabbing skin on her scalp where the latest monitoring device protrudes from her skin. Anger wrestles in his chest - they had promised they would wait another week. There would be talk about this. And maybe several black eyes.

Angel turns her back to her father before handing him the necklace over her shoulder. She lifts her black hair - what remains of it - for him to fasten the jewellery around her neck.

“Perfect.” Jack concludes, as Angel turns back around to show him. She grins and hugs her father around the middle again.

“Thank you, Daddy.”

“I’ll send that on to the big man for you.”

“I know he isn’t real.” Angel whispers, “I know you got this for me.”

_She’s growing up._

“Then you’re welcome, my Angel.” Jack replies, stroking his hand through her hair, careful not to catch the devices attached there. She is warm under his touch, and though he cannot stay long, it hurts as much as ever to go.

“I’ll be back soon.” he promises, squatting down to face her.

“Wait! Don’t go yet! I have something for you too.”

Angel hurries back to her cot and her message board, and removes a slip of paper which she gives to Jack. On it is one of her drawings - both he and her in the picture are the same height. It seems she has drawn herself as an adult, and there is a considerable amount of grey in Jack’s hair. He notes that for the first time, she has drawn the outline of his mask on his face.

_She really is growing up. Too fast._

“I.... Thanks, baby. This is going in my office, on my desk, for everyone to see.” he says, reverently folding the paper and slipping it into his jacket pocket.

“Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“You promise?”

Jack offers his pinkie finger with a grin. “Promise.”

Angel hooks her own pinkie around his and laughs. “Good. And you promise you will be back soon?”

“Yeah. I promise that too.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, my little Angel. You’re gonna be a real good girl for me, huh? Promise?”

“Promise!”

Now Jack releases his finger from hers, a light chuckle echoing her giggling, and he gives his daughter a final lingering kiss on her forehead before turning away. He knows he can’t look back. If he does, he might never leave. Angel says nothing as he goes, closing the door behind him before he leans heavily against it.

“Fuck.” he murmurs, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes which sting with a threat of treacherous tears.

_It’s for her own good._

_She’ll understand._

_She’s safe here._

Lies echoing in his skull, some of them in his voice, some of them in the voices of those who occupy a room just down the hall. The same voices belonging to people who broke a promise.

Jack rolls up his sleeves and marches from the door of his daughter’s cell to the observation room, ready to mask his guilt and grief under his fury yet again.

He hates Christmas.


End file.
